


The Drilling Rig, Part 3

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair meets someone familiar on the trip out to the rig.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drilling Rig, Part 3

## The Drilling Rig, Part 3

by Scribe

Author's website:  <http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles>

Standard disclaimers pertaining to ownership of the characters. This story is not meant to reflect on the actors who portrayed the characters.

This first appeared in My Mongoose Ezine. Thanks to Elaine for the beta.

* * *

Part Three: At Second Glance 

*My theory is that weather on any sort of dock in any part of the world is this: it is never actually pleasant. It is always, too damn hot, too damn cold, too damn wet, or too damn something.* Blair thought this as he tried to keep his jacket over his head without losing his hold on his two overstuffed duffle bags. It was raining, as he'd once heard an old mountain man say, like a cow pissing on a flat rock, and the wind was whipping so that it was slanting _just_ enough to blow into the gap he was trying to peer through. 

*I guess if I listened to the news now and then I'd have known this was blowing up, but nooo. Had to catch that last episode of Saturday Night Live. Well, it was worth it. They had Antonio Banderas on, and he got down to his boxers in that bedroom sketch.\\\ 

Sadly, the memory of the Latino hunk wasn't quite enough to keep the chill at bay. By the time Blair reached the boat, he was soaked and quivering with cold. The man who admitted him at the top of the gangplank eyed him sourly. "Sandburg, right? You mean t' tell me you're not bringin' any foul weather gear?" 

"I wasn't told I'd need any," he said patiently. 

"Yeah, well, I s'pose they just fig'erred anyone with half a brain would KNOW that they'd need a slicker out in t' North Sea this time o' year. G'wan in. I 'spect they'll scare you up somethin' on t' platform. There's usu'lly somethin' left behin' by some crewman. Though," Blair thought that the snicker was a little nastier than strictly necessary. "It'll pro'lly swaller you up." 

Before he could reach the shelter of the cabin, the wind decided to get a bit friskier. Blair managed to save his jacket from sailing off into the water, but only just. He was immediately drenched. \\\Fucking marvelous. Now I'll start my new job with a sniffle, and that is so attractive in a food handler.\\\ He slammed the door open and stepped inside, being greeted with an immediate chorus of variations on the theme of 'Shut the fuckin' door!'. Blair managed to fight it closed, and just stood there for a moment, dripping. 

"Aw, shit," someone said. "They done sent us another drowned puppy." Blair's hair had more or less plastered itself across his face during the last-minute deluge, so he supposed it was a fair comparison, if not a flattering one. 

"Looks like wunna dem Afghanistan houn's wit' dat hair," someone else added, and there were appreciative guffaws. Blair immediately began to wonder what the hell he'd gotten himself into. 

Someone tossed a towel over his head, and a gruff voice said, "Dry yourself off, kid, before you get pneumonia." 

Blair dumped his bags in a place he hoped would be out of the way, and started tousling his hair. "Thanks, man. How long do you think we'll be delayed?" 

"Delayed?" The voice was puzzled. "We're pulling out in ten. The whole crew made it on board, so there's no reason to wait around till the last minute." 

"But the weather..." Blair hung the towel around his shoulders and pulled a handful of damp hair out of his eyes... 

...and found himself looking at James. The older man was dressed much as he had been the night before, except that he had on an open, heavy pea coat, and wore a knitted watch cap pulled low on his forehead. "You..." Jim's mouth tightened, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Blair glanced around quickly. The room, looking roughly like a lounge, held somewhere around fifty men. Most of the were watching the new arrival curiously. 

Blair continued. "You mean to tell me that we're going to launch in this weather?" 

One man, with gray just starting to show in what was left of his hair chuckled. "Hell, son, this little bitty spit? It takes a damn sight more than this to keep a crew boat from shoving off on schedule." 

"Oh." The boat was pitching in what was, to Blair, an alarming manner, and it was still docked. He made his way over to the wall and took a seat next to Luke, who was also dripping wet. "Guess you must be my wet litter mate, huh?" 

"Don't take it personal, Blair. Some of the older guys feel obligated to rag on the younger ones." 

"Ageism at it's worst." 

It won't be so bad once we're on the platform I worked with Simon before, an' he don't let no one mess with his staff." 

The ship started to move. Actually, it had been moving. It started to move more. Lots more. Blair grabbed hold of the bench he was sitting on. *Oh, man. Sniffles farther down the line, nausea right now, a guy who shot me down in flames last night, and a bunch of teasing macho red necks to deal with at close quarters. This job is just peachy so far.* 

As the floor seemed to pitch and heave, Blair's stomach *thank God I just had tea and toast instead of that kippers-and-kidney thing they tried to push on me* started to rebel, big time. "How much longer is this ride going to last?" 

Luke wrinkled his brow in thought. "Well, it'll be a little slower, what with the rough seas, but it shouldn't be more than, say, six or seven hours." 

"Oh, man." Blair hung on a little longer. He knew that he must be slowly turning a lovely shade of pale green. Finally he said, very carefully, "I gotta assume that there's a toilet somewhere on this ship?" 

One of the roughnecks said tartly, "It's a boat, not a ship, ya idjet. An' no, we jus' hang it over the side when we need to go." He was met by appreciative snickers. 

James _Jim_ frowned at the joker, and jerked his thumb toward an unmarked door. "Head is through there." 

"Thanks." Now all he had to do was make it there, hopefully without spewing his breakfast on someone who would be inclined to beat the snot out of him. He kept remembering those job-required steel toed boots... 

Blair got up, hanging onto the bench for support as long as he could, and took a cautious step out onto the floor. The ship chose that moment to pitch, and he landed on Luke's lap. There was general laughter as he struggled back up, and a catcall from someone about 'get a room!'. Blair was beginning to think that it might be best to kind of 'hide in the closet' while he was out on the platform, at least until he could gauge the general opinion toward gays. Right now, he wasn't too hopeful. 

He started across the room again. This time he almost made it to his goal before another particularly high swell hit, and he was thrown off balance again. He landed this time against someone big and solid. Strong arms grabbed him, keeping him from falling, and settling him back on his feet. "Thanks, man. I..." It was Jim. Somehow that didn't surprise him. He seemed to be destined to keep running into this man. "I appreciate it." 

Jim just nodded, pushing open the door for him. Good thing he did. The nausea reached a peak right about then. If Blair had been forced to take that extra second, he wouldn't have made it to a stall, and would have decorated the lounge floor in a most embarrassing manner. 

Instead, he made it to a stall just in time for the porcelain basin to catch the (surprisingly, to Blair) meager contents of his stomach. The way he'd felt, he had been sure there was going to be an eruption worthy of Vesuvius. He hung over the mercifully clean bowl, panting, his hair curtaining his face. Then, just when he thought he was safe, he started bringing up bile. 

When the dry heaves finally stopped, he was exhausted, his sides ached, and he was slightly disoriented. He sat back on the floor with a thump, back braced against the cool metal of the stall divider and tried to catch his breath. *I obviously was never a sailor in any of my previous incarnations.* 

He was too weak to really react when someone pulled the hair out of his eyes. He found that Jim was squatting in the door to the stall. The older man silently offered a paper cup of water and a tiny pill. Blair eyed it without enthusiasm. The idea of putting anything back into his outraged stomach wasn't very appealing. "Valium?" 

"Dramamine. I know it won't be easy, but if you can keep it down, it'll help a lot." Blair tried to pick the pill up out of Jim's palm, but his own hand was trembling. The other man sighed, and said, "Just open up." Blair opened his mouth, and the man tucked the pill inside, then held the cup to his lips for him to sip. His belly protested immediately. The other man could tell, because he put a hand on his shoulder, saying sharply, "Fight it down. You need to get that into your system for it to help." 

Somehow Blair managed not to spew again. In a moment, he was even able to accept another couple of sips of water. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, and praying for relief. Blessedly, he got it. The storm in his innards slowly lessened to a faint grumbling that he wasn't pleased with, but he could handle. 

He opened his eyes to find Jim still squatted next to him, watching him with those laser sharp blue eyes. "Better?" he inquired. Blair nodded. "Good. You'll need another one in a couple of hours, just to be on the safe side." He offered Blair a wad of damp paper towels, and the young man gratefully wiped his face. 

Blair sighed. "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." 

The wide, firm mouth crooked slightly at the corners, a ghost of a smile. "Then you must've been kicked in the nuts a lot in your short lifetime." 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

Jim glanced back over his shoulder toward the closed door to the lounge, then looked back at Blair. His voice low, he said, "Look, about what happened out there..." 

"You don't have to explain anything to me, man. You don't owe me any explanations." 

He rubbed his face. "It's just that... Well, out on the platforms, I... uh... I'm not quite as open." 

"You're still in the closet. I can dig it. I guess it isn't exactly the most liberal environment on earth. Don't worry, I won't say or do anything to embarrass you. I'm not exactly gonna be wearing my 'Pink Pride' button while I'm out there, either." 

"You're not mad at me?" 

"Why should I be? Hell, it isn't the first time I've been shot down in flames." 

Jim frowned. "It isn't that. It's just..." He stood up abruptly, going to the sink and beginning to wash his hands, leaving Blair bewildered. A moment later the door to the lounge opened, and Luke peeked in. 

"Blair, you okay?" 

Blair struggled to his feet, tossing Jim a curious look. "The patient will live. He may not be totally happy about it, but he'll live." As he started out, Jim nudged him, and silently offered a second pill. This time Blair could have easily picked it up, but he gripped Jim's wrist, as if to steady it. As he retrieved the tablet, he let his fingers press into the warm, broad palm for a moment, and stared into his eyes, saying softly, "Thanks, man. Just what I need." 

He had the satisfaction of seeing red creeping up the older man's cheeks as he left the head. 

* * *

End The Drilling Rig, Part 3 by Scribe: poet77665@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

  
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